


The 13th Prince

by linkypie



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Origin Story, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linkypie/pseuds/linkypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the short and simple one-shot, in which we learn of how the thirteenth prince of the Southern Isles grew up and was raised to have a cold and bitter heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 13th Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally an essay for my Creative Writing class. This work is unedited and will probably remain that way. Will I soon add more detail, expand, and continue? There's a possibility. But for now, enjoy.

When the kingdom surrounded by sea saw it’s thirteenth heir born into the world and take his first breath there was hardly even a stir of realization. Unlike most of his brothers before, the baby boy had no ceremony or celebration, not even a simple feast to recognize his coming. He was the last thing the royal family had wanted, one more reckless child running around the long halls and gardens. And it was that unlucky number that sealed the boy’s fate. He was just another one of them, a child never to receive the throne in his lifetime. He would be seen as a nuisance for the rest of his life.

Still, it did not stop the child from dreaming. Born with soft red hair and a pair of bright green eyes, he was given the simple name of Hans. It was a dull and unremarkable name for what his mother and father thought was fitting for a very dull and unremarkable boy, but little Hans was determined to prove himself otherwise.

The boy had a wild imagination and liked to play with his older siblings whom were all at least five years older than their brother. They taught him to crawl and then walk, but in their youth they were sometimes cruel to Hans.

One day, the prince, just four at the time, tried to interrupt his older brother's game of chess. He didn’t like chest, he thought it was quite boring and pointless. Still, he watched and his brother moved his black king across the board. “Henry, Jeremy, are you almost done?” he looked between them.

“No, Hans,” one of the twins grumbled, “Go play Trojans with Richard or something.”

“Richard is out and he doesn’t like me much,” Hans whined.

“Then wait.”

“I hate waiting.”

Henry huffed and quietly stood up and picked up his little brother. For a moment, Hans smiled, thinking he was finally going to play with him. However, his brother simply threw him out of the door and shut him out. Hans hit his head, whimpering. He looked at the door, slowly standing up on his small wobbly legs before sadly walking off to his bedroom.

It would be the story of his life, being on the outside looking in. He was the last prince, the youngest and the smallest. In ceremonies and at church he was the last to stand up. Hans was never brought out of his country. Like many of his brothers,  he was simply unimportant in his rank. But Hans couldn't yet find himself able to leave his childhood home. At ten years old, Hans cried for hours straight when his brother’s Henry and Jeremy suddenly stopped talking to him and pretended he wasn't there. No matter how many times he racked on their door or pulled on their waistcoats, Hans was simply invisible to them.

Years past and Hans lived sorrowfully in the shadow of his brothers. He almost never spoke to his father, the king, who was always busy with the eldest of his sons and teaching them about the lands and how to rule his kingdom. His mother was a different story. She was a quiet woman, and honestly, Hans only ever saw her at dinner and royal ceremonies and celebrations. Up until now, he had hardly even cared for her, his brother and staff having taken care of him for most of his life, but now, he looked to her for acceptance. All Hans wanted was to be loved.

He began to follow his mother like a lost puppy after his brother’s suddenly lost interest in him. She seemed almost surprised, as if she had completely forgotten her child, but welcomed him anyway. The queen was very quiet and reserved, and simply shook her head no when Hans brought up wanting to play a game. He told his mother stories and what he was thinking, but she never responded. It wasn’t until he was fifteen when the king suffered a tragic and sudden death in his sleep, Hans’s mother taking up the throne. No one else seemed to see it, but Hans saw the dark gleam in the queen’s eyes as she was given the royal crown. The young prince followed in his mother’s long shadow, clinging to her dress like a child. “Mother,” he whispered one day, “What happened to father?”

The queen donned her white gloves and fixed her crown while gazing into the mirror. “He died,” she stated dryly.

“But how?”

The queen looked at Hans irritably and huffed. “Because it was just his time to die…”

There was in edge in the queen’s voice and it made Hans uncomfortable. “Mom,” he began, his heart racing a little in his chest, “I-I love you,” he stammered.

His mother let out a light laugh, giving her son a wicked smile. She then leaned down, caressing Han’s cheek. “Oh Hans,” she began softly, her nail tracing his jaw, “If only there was someone out there who loved you…”

At this, Hans could have swore he felt his heart crack in two, his  lungs starting to weigh him down as his breathing suddenly shallowed. “I…” He tried to find the words to say but they stuck to his tongue bitterly. “I-I thought you did,” Hans finally managed to choke out.

The queen peeked her head down the hall no make sure no one was listening before locking them in the room. “Your father was a very kind man,” she started, “He cared about his sons and about this kingdom, about everything- but he was arrogant to how I felt. I bore him thirteen sons, but why? Because that’s what he wanted.”

“M-mom…” Hans mumbled fearfully.

“I knew that with him around, in the health he was in, the crown would never come to me, nor my sons… so I just… took the opportunity.” Hans looked at his mother with scared eyes as she approached him. “As for you, my baby boy,” she smirked, “You were a mistake, and as my thirteenth, a damned mistake.” The queen gave Hans a bright, but devilish grin. Hans took one step back, then another and another before he was running out the door and down the hallway that seemed to stretch miles before him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he bolted for the front doors of their large castle, running and bumping past the staff and a few siblings.

He burst through the front doors and flew down past the gates, the garden, and towards the wide fields and villages that surrounded his home. Hans ran until his legs gave way and his heartbeat pounded in his eardrums. It was miraculous to know that his heart was even there, given he felt more dead than alive. In his adrenaline, the boy had hardly realized where he had collapsed. It was dark but warm, and he lied on something soft.

After what felt like forever, Hans sat up a little and looked around, ignoring the throbbing pain in his skull. He could barely see anything, but something moved in the shadows. “Who’s there?” He whimpered, curling his legs up to his chest. His eyes darted to where he heard footsteps. “Go!” The young prince cried out, tears welling in his eyes.

There was a sudden warm, wet feeling along his cheek and he paled in disgust. “E-Ew!” He rubbed his cheek quickly with his sleeve. The creature before him made a satisfied neigh. Hans quickly got up and opened a door, shining dim morning light into the barn he had ran into. Before him was a small Fjord horse, native to the land and pets for the royal family. He had seen the stallions but never one of the small colts, given he was never even allowed so far from the castle.

“Oh,” Hans came over to the creature who what no bigger than he was and carefully hand his hand over his mane. The horse huffed in satisfaction and bumped his snout against him lovingly. “You gotta name, boy?” The prince asked, getting down on one knee and scratching the colt’s side. He saw the nameplate on the reins hanging on the wall, reading,

“That’s a mouthful, Sitronomous,” Hans chuckled. “How about I just call you Sitron?”

The horse beat his hoof down on the ground and neighed happily.

“Alright, Sitron,” Hans laughed, standing up again. “You’re gonna be my horse now.”

The young foal would become Hans’s only true companion over the years he spent in his home. While his brothers came and went, going off to find their own happiness and hopefully claim their own throne, Hans was kept in the Southern Isles where his mother kept a very close eye on him. He would gallop around the towns and villages on his stead, Sitron, but would always be in the light of his mother’s menacing control. He was not allowed to leave home, ever. And if Hans were to ever confess his mother’s dark and terrible secret, she would first kill his stallion and then him. Sitron was the only friend the prince Hans, so he fearfully obeyed the queen’s order.

So for seven whole years, Hans lived as the forgotten prince. There was no way in hell he’d ever take the throne in his own kingdom, but still, that was really all he wanted. The years had changed the once kind hearted prince, he had been stepped on, ridiculed, belittled, and unloved by the ones he called family. The brothers he had once played with were long gone and strangers to him, and the woman he called mother and queen was his silent enemy and the darkness of his nightmares. Only his horse, Sitron, kept him company, but nights were still so terribly lonely. There was no one that would ever seem to love him, and for the longest time he mourned and pitied himself, but over the lateness of the seven years that pity turned to a quiet anger that swelled within him. Twenty one years the prince had waited for his cruel fate as the thirteenth and unlucky prince to change, and twenty one years he waited in vain.

Hans’s heart had become cold, frozen with jealousy and anger at the world around him.

On his twenty first birthday, Hans ate in the fields overlooking the kingdom and squinted. “You and I are leaving,” He murmured to Sitron who sat by his side, now a grown and beautiful stallion, “And we aren't coming back until I’m king of another region.” The prince chewed at his food and looked through the various letters he had stolen from his mother’s bedroom in her absence. He scanned through the boring papers when something caught his eye. Hans put his plate to the side and looked at the paper closer, reading it over carefully. “You are hereby invited to our dear princess Elsa’s coronation ceremony on May the seventh, where all will witness her crowning as the Queen of Arendelle.” Hans looked at Sitron with a growing smirk. “Sitron, we’re going to the kingdom of Arendelle.”

He stood up, his heart pounding in sudden excitement and blood lust, tucking the letter into his coat pocket. “I’m sure mother won’t mind us going to Arendelle for her, will she? For murdering my father, I think I owe her that much.” Hans patted Sitron’s side, making the horse stand and quickly mounted on his back. “Seven days, the ceremony will begin in seven days, we must get ready to greet the royal family with a warm Southern Isles welcome, don’t you think?” The prince laughed darkly to himself and rode his stead onward toward the home he’d leave soon enough...


End file.
